After the Dance
by stellish
Summary: Inspired by the 2005 film, in which after her intense dance with Darcy, Lizzy steals away to catch her breath. In this story, Darcy finds her alone and smut ensues. One-shot. Rated M for a reason, friends!


note:

I do not own these characters, this is all in good fun.

This story is rated M for graphic sexual content, so if you are offended by such material, please turn back now!

Elizabeth escaped into an empty room, leaning against the wall as she caught her breath. What had happened back there? She looked around the room, it was dark, but the curtains were open and the moon half-full, and she slowly adjusted a bit and made out that she was standing in Mr. Bingley's library. She pushed off of the wall, wandering towards a wall of shelves, pushing a rolling ladder down its track idly. She smiled as she thought that these books must have come with the house. While he was witty and kind, she did not think him to be much of an intellect. Not everyone could keep up with Elizabeth. But Darcy seemed to. She blushed as she remembered the feeling of dancing with him, the knots in her stomach when he looked into her eyes, always looking deeper than anyone else ever had bothered. But he was bad, she thought, he hurt Wickham and would get what he deserved.

A throat was cleared that was not her own. Startled, she turned back to the doorway to see Mr. Darcy himself standing there, his eyes still boring holes into her, his face locked in a neutral expression as though he were repressing something powerful. She was almost afraid.

"I'm sorry Mr. Darcy, I had hoped for a moment's peace, but I suppose one can only ask for so much at such a fashionable event," she said pointedly, and his composed face fell a bit.

"Apologies, Ms. Elizabeth, it was not my intention to disturb your peace," he said, his eyes shifting aside as though he were deep in thought.

"Do you have something else to say, Mr. Darcy? I have never known you to bite your tongue," she smiled acidly, "and that's coming from someone who is, how did you put it, 'barely tolerable'?" He winced at that.

"Ms. Elizabeth," he began, "you must know that I regret that comment deeply."

"Because you were overheard?" she baited.

"Because it is untrue," he replied, taking a step forward in frustration.

"Because you now find me intolerable?" she asked, smiling. He shook his head silently.

"You seem to try to make it so," he said quietly, and she laughed softly.

"Oil and vinegar do not mix, sir, and such is the way with people too, some will never find each other agreeable," she said dryly, trying to collect herself and head back to the party. Which would have been much easier if Darcy was not standing in front of the doorway. Her motion towards escape only brought her closer to him as she stopped, waiting for him to let her by. He looked even more distressed by her proximity than her comments. "If you please," she said, prompting him to move.

"If _you_ please," he said sternly, and she started at his sudden assertiveness. He stepped forward again, gripping her shoulders as if to hold her still, though she was now frozen in fear. "You put words in my mouth and thoughts in my head every time we meet. But the truth is that I find you far more than tolerable, and much more than agreeable." Her eyes widened at his admission, and her jaw dropped slightly. She had never, ever, in a million years believed that Mr. Fitzwilliam Darcy of Pemberley could not only foster these feelings, but admit to them in such a manner. It was highly improper, but the Bennet family was never exactly proper, with even Mrs. Bennet occasionally swooning over a redcoat.

"I-" she finally said, if only to break the silence, "I'm sorry, Mr. Darcy, I- I do not know what to say to you." As he considered her statement, it did not sound quite like the rejection he expected after her earlier vitriol. His grip on her shoulders loosened, and he realized how soft the fabric of her gown was, and the small areas of skin that peeked out from under the sleeves. He was touching her. He moved his thumb, his eyes following it's motion, rubbing her shoulder softly. She paused, wanting to protest but wondering at the feeling in her stomach that such a small motion has caused. He was proud, and entitled, and she kind of hated him, but she could not deny the feeling of anticipation that she felt any time he was near.

And he was nearer than he'd ever been as he stood there, holding her shoulders, his hands moving, one of them down her arm a bit, the other up to her neck, as her eyes widened. He knew that he had only a small window of time to make his move, so he moved. His lips covered hers, his hands holding her in place, and she squealed into his mouth. Keeping one hand on her neck, holding her head to him, he moved the other to her waist, pulling her body into his. She sighed at the feeling of it, his hard lips against her yielding ones, his muscular body against her curves. She could feel him smiling as he kissed her, and he whipped her around to once more lean against the wall next to the doorway, out of sight of the guests. As she began to defrost after the initial shock, she began to kiss him back, her anger at him over Wickham being channeled into a fierce passion. Her hands clutched at his shirt, pulling him closer, though he was already pressed against her, against a wall. He worked his tongue into her mouth, and she accepted it, adventurously sucking it. He could not believe his luck. Letting go of her head, she did not attempt to stop frantically kissing him, her hands releasing his shirt and beginning to explore the musculature below the fabric. His chest was hard and broad, and made her feel small and... safe. From what, she did not know, but she knew that at this moment, her being was under the full control of Mr. Fitzwilliam Darcy. She was just along for the ride.

As she stroked his chest and stomach, he began to follow her lead, running his fingers lightly over her stomach, teasing her with his delicate touch. She parted from his lips, gasping for breath, and he smiled broadly, kissing her cheek and running his lips down to her neck and earlobe. His hands moved a bit upward, to gently touch the bottom of her small breasts through her gown. She gasped, and he moved his hands back down. Weaving her fingers into his dark, hair, she kissed him deeply, his hands moving back upward and rubbing her chest, squeezing her breasts gently, feeling her nipples harden beneath the white fabric that shone in the moonlight. His knee pushed between her thighs, and he shifted her gown to expose her pink nipples, both of their minds fogged and their breathing heavy. He began to kiss her small, pert breasts, and she began to unconsciously rub herself on his thigh.

"Did you see Elizabeth Bennet? She absolutely threw herself at Mr. Darcy, can you believe it?" a female voice snarled from outside of the doorway. Elizabeth froze, and Darcy stilled soonafter as they listened, still pressed together against the wall.

"Of course I can believe it," another voice agreed, "the Bennets are desperate to marry their girls off well. I'm sure Eliza Bennet set her cap on him the moment he entered the county." The two women laughed and Elizabeth blushed furiously. She awkwardly tried to step back, only to find herself unable to. His hand flew to her cheek, and, turning her head, he pulled her eyes to his.

"I do not believe a word of it," he whispered, gazing into her eyes in earnest. Her nervousness slipped away and she leaned in to kiss him again, her heart swelling with appreciation for his kindness. He began to fumble with her skirt, pulling it up slowly, as well as the slip beneath. She did not protest, kissing him with all of her strength, her hips grinding into his thigh, seeking something she did not know. Her caresses along his chest and back became bolder, and she gasped as he kissed her breasts while lifting her skirt and stroking her inner thigh teasingly. She shivered in anticipation. He sighed and paused.

"Lizzy?" he whispered, and she looked up at him breathlessly. "Do you really want to do this?" He knew that, if they were discovered, she would be ruined. Unable to think, she nodded dazedly, reaching into his pants and stroking his very hard member. A guttural noise emerged from his throat, and he slipped a finger inside of her. She squeaked and pressed herself into his hand. He sighed, sliding his finger in and out as she delicately touched him, pulling him free from his britches. Things were moving quickly, so he added two fingers and she sighed, idly rubbing his erection as she enjoyed the sensations coursing through her body. She came with a stutter, her head back against the wall and his mouth seeking hers, kissing her softly and when she opened her eyes and saw him, it was as though she had a new pair of eyes. He was the kindest, most handsome of men, and, though still surely somewhat curmudgeonly, he was hers.

"Please, Darcy," she whispered to him, her eyes locked into his, and he shook his head.

"I don't think we should, Lizzy," he said softly, kissing her immediately after. "I am in love with you, I have been in love with you, before this... happened. If you will have me, I'd like to marry you and then do that, a hundred times a day." Elizabeth's eyes were wide. This had all happened so suddenly, and somewhat out of order, but she just nodded dumbly. He raised an eyebrow quizzically.

"Are you nodding that you will marry me? I don't know if that's really a nod-appropriate question," he frowned, and she laughed.

"Yes, I will marry you, Fitzwilliam Darcy. After all, I set my cap on you long ago," she joked, of course, as she knew that less than an hour ago she had hated him, and now they were engaged.


End file.
